


how do you love someone.

by waywardway



Category: Haikyuu!!, haikyuu
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other characters will make an appearance - Freeform, and there will be someone for kuroo in the end !!, bokuaka is endgame don't worry !!, but before that prepare for Lots of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardway/pseuds/waywardway
Summary: one step at a time.





	1. the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> here we go again, goodness. lots of angst in this one. just four college kids trying to navigate life.

His back is slammed, none-too-gently, into the door of his criminally tiny dorm, consequently slamming the door shut behind it. In a mess of breaths, limbs and silent pleas, Akaashi has just one thought.

_I wish it was you_.

***

“Morning.”

The words aren’t strange nor new to him. It isn't the first time he’s heard them. It isn’t the first time that he’s experienced everything leading up to it. A disheveled mess of black hair, a lean body to accompany it, and eyes that give a smile so innocent no one would believe what had happened the next before.

“Good morning,” is his response, croaked out as he rolls onto his stomach and plops his cheek onto his pillow. Curls of hair in his eyes, he’s nearly grimacing at the light streaming in through the window. It’s too late in the morning, so late he’s missed two of his classes, and is likely to miss much more if he doesn’t get up. Kuroo seems to have gathered that, however, for a hand is giving Akaashi’s back a firm slap.

“Class. The shift in the space-time continuum will destroy Earth if the top 1% doesn’t show up for class.”

Him and Kuroo are friends. Strictly friends. They got acquainted, funnily enough, through Bokuto.

God, that name still hurts to even think about.

When him and Bokuto had their very combative parting, the pain was almost too much to bear. He didn’t let it show. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. It would be embarrassing to those who knew him if he fell apart just because a relationship of his had burst into flame. Dealing with it quietly, independently, _painfully_—he needed comfort.

Of course, Akaashi hadn’t exactly planned for that comfort to come in the form of a _person_. Let alone a mutual friend of a past he would have far preferred to forget. Akaashi had initiated it. It was Akaashi, late one night, drunk and wanting to tear his heart right out of his chest, that had kissed him. It was Akaashi that had asked him not to stop. And so, they fell into a routine pattern. Kuroo was wild and passionate. It was easy to forget when he was with him. The heat, the rhythm, it consumed him, mind, body and soul. He didn’t have the time nor energy to think of anything else.

To be truthful, that’s what he needed. And once he got a taste of it, he didn’t want to cut himself off from it. After all, it was those moments that saved him.


	2. are you over him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update !! enjoy !!

“Akaashi-san.”

The monotoned voice pulls him out of his daze, tearing his absentminded gaze from the paper before him to the owner of said voice.

“Oh. Kageyama-kun.”

Kageyama was two years younger than he was, a freshman at the university, and yet, still talking advanced classes. He had heard from his team in high school that Kageyama wasn’t exactly a stellar student, but something must have changed between then and now if he was admitted into a class far advanced for a freshman to enter into.

“You’ve seemed distracted these past few weeks. Is everything okay? Your notes…” Kageyama’s hand gestures to Akaashi’s currently _empty_ notebook. A notebook that should have been filled to the brim with notes. This was unlike him. His grades were fine, however, not as commendable as they could have been. With his head elsewhere during lectures, he had to make up for it with independent study afterwards. This was far more grueling than just paying attention, even for a little while, but trying to concentrate made it all the more difficult to concentrate. He felt antsy, fidgety, and most of all, unhappy. He wanted Kuroo. He wanted Kuroo to make him forget, like he always did. He needed it so much more than he used to.

“I can lend you mine. You can copy off of them.”

An eyebrow rose, a quizzical expression greeting Kageyama’s offer. “What?”

“We have a test next week.”

“You don’t have to d—”

“I don’t mind.”

Curt, as usual. Kageyama was always curt, never speaking more than necessary, not adding any additional sentiment, but he was observational. They had never been particularly close, having worked on one project together (which they had gotten a perfect grade on), but he was an okay kid, for the most part.

A big part of that “okay” label came from the fact that Kageyama was on the varsity volleyball team. The same volleyball team Bokuto was currently a starter in.

Akaashi mumbles a thank you, offers to buy Kageyama lunch to make up for it, but Kageyama merely shakes his head and politely declines.

“Actually, there is something that I want to ask of you. If that’s okay.”

Pen languidly scrawling Kageyama’s notes, which were neat, pristine and obsessively within the lined pages, Akaashi throws in a “hm?”.

“Bokuto-san…” Kageyama drawls, scratching the back of his neck as if he’s unsure how to approach the topic.

Akaashi nearly drops his pen. He can feel himself start to stiffen. He doesn’t know why, Kageyama doesn’t know about his past with him. It was more likely that Kageyama wasn’t used to depending on others, and therefore, wasn’t sure how to ask for help. He didn’t need to panic.

Not that it would matter to Bokuto, anyway.

“He’s been out of control.”

Feigning disinterest, Akaashi doesn’t respond for a while. When he does, he purposely sounds painfully impassive. “Hm.”

“I know he’s prone to the occasional emotional breakdown. The team knows. But lately, it’s not just him feeling down. He gets so angry.”

Should he still feel worried? Concerned? After all, he and Bokuto haven’t spoken in months. Avoid each other like the plague. They are never in the same room for prolonged periods of time. They don’t initiate any kind of contact.

Bokuto is as close as a stranger.

Akaashi shouldn’t care.

He doesn’t.

“It’s not just once. It’s not just ten minutes, half an hour, an hour, or a day. He gets angry and he can’t pull himself out. The coach had to bench him the other day.”

“Kageyama-kun, I don’t know what to tell you. Bokuto-san and I aren’t close.”

“I was hoping that maybe you could talk to him. You were on the same team with him when you were in high school.”

Akaashi clears his throat, closes his notebook, and gets up from his spot. “There’s nothing I can do to help you with that. I’m sorry. Thanks for the notes.” And with that, he briskly leaves in the middle of the lecture.

***

There’s something different with him tonight. He can sense it himself. Most likely the talk with Kageyama in class earlier riled him up, blast open a door he thought he was starting to get better at closing. Akaashi hated admitting that what had happened with Bokuto still left such an impression him. He hated admitting even more that knowing that Bokuto didn’t just snap back to normal made him feel slightly better.

As if there was a chance.

The slender fingers in Kuroo’s hair, the ones that usually run through the black strands, now grip at them. He wanted to be ravaged and ravage, too. Their mouths are hot, desperate, his especially. And when they’re in bed, his fingers press Kuroo’s mouth into his neck, an unspoken demand, as if he’s practically begging to be marked.

He does.

Many times.

For the first time in the months that him and Kuroo have been together this way, the name that falls from parted lips isn’t Bokuto’s. It’s Kuroo’s.

***

“Why are you wearing ten layers of clothes?”

A bemused snort follows the remark as Kuroo takes his usual seat next to Akaashi in the one class they share. Biology.

Ten layers was a bit of an understatement. It was more like three.

Genius that he was, Akaashi didn’t realize that asking to be marked meant that Kuroo would _mark_ him, in places both conspicuous and inconspicuous. There was no way in hell he could enter a public domain with red and purple marks across his neck and decollate for the entire campus to see. All the other ones could be covered easily with clothing (opaque, black clothing), but the others required a little more effort. Hence the reason why he was sitting in class, sweater atop of long-sleeve atop short-sleeve – to be safe.

“I run cold.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

That night, a mark was very strategically placed across Akaashi’s jaw—getting away with it was easy in the moment—and the following day he had to tell those who inquired that he was punched in the face. When asked by who, he blamed Kuroo shamelessly and without pause.

***

It wasn’t a date.

Sure, they were at a restaurant. At night. A _tad_ more dressed up than usual.

But friends could go out. And dressed up for the both of them meant having any clothing on in general, with the activities they tended to indulge in.

Akaashi and Kuroo were not, definitely not, on a date.

But for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Akaashi was enjoying himself. He didn’t smile much on a good day, but Kuroo pulled a few out of him. A chuckle, too, when he asked the waiter what the difference was between smoked and cooked salmon.

“This place is too high brow for me,” Kuroo grumbled, setting aside the menu after having finally ordered something he thought he was remotely familiar with.

“Your idea of fine dining is McDonald’s. Any place with clean tables is too high brow for you.”

“Your awful rude to someone who’s regularly having repeated sex out of wedlock with you,” came the retort from the black-haired menace, extra loud too, so that the couples surrounding them gave them weird looks.

A quick kick to his shin shuts him up, but not before a smug laugh. “I’m going to the bathroom. If our food comes, remember to start with the outside fork, you barbarian.”

Of course there would be a single men’s washroom. Of course it would be occupied.

He’s waiting outside, a respectable distance from the door, but doesn’t have to wait long. The occupant comes out, and Akaashi nearly passes right by him.

Him.

“What is that.” The question isn’t phrased like a question. The voice, all too familiar, sends literal shivers down Akaashi’s spine, and causes him to stop in place. He’s afraid to look. He doesn’t want to look. Even without doing so, he knows who it is. With his heart hammering uncontrollably in his chest, he wills himself to remain calm.

He knows what Bokuto is talking about.

Considering the fact that the restaurant would be dimly lit, places where the cheapest dish would still cost you more than a couple yen always were, he didn’t think covering all of the marks Kuroo gave him the previous night was necessary. He shouldn’t have to. Even Kuroo, in passing, made a comment about it, something along the lines of “why’d you ask for them if you were just going to keep them covered.”

God, he felt guilty.

He shouldn’t. He didn’t owe Bokuto anything.

“Nothing.” His voice, uninterested as always. As if Bokuto was just another one of his not-so-close acquaintances from class that he spoke to only intermittently and out of necessity. But Bokuto’s voice gets progressively worse.

“Who gave you that? Are you over it already? Having fun without a care in the fucking world?”

His jaw clenches. Finally, a hardened stare is fixated upon the figure he hasn’t seen in so long. “Don’t.”

“No, really! Let me in on the secret! Tell me how I can get back to fucking normal!” Bokuto’s volume increases after each word, each exclamation, until he’s practically shouting.

This is worse than Akaashi could have imagined. Many times he thought about what he would do if he saw Bokuto again, if he spoke to him again, if they ran into each other. None of his imaginings ended well, but none of them could have predicted this, either. This was worse. It reminded him of that night things fell apart.

“Stop yelling, Bokuto-san. You’re being disruptive. If you have a complaint, take it up with me in private.”

Here he was, making a call for civility, and yet he found himself doing the one thing he knew would send Bokuto raging right through the wall. Bokuto-san. Formal, distant. Even in the semi-darkness, he can see Bokuto’s eyes darkening. He’s angry. As much as he’s trying to, Akaashi isn’t exactly the picture of serenity, either. Things looked as if they were going to erupt, and they would have, had it not been for Kuroo’s voice.

“Akaashi.”

Both he and Bokuto freeze, and turn to face Kuroo, who is standing by the entrance into the little hallway separating the restaurant from the kitchen and the restrooms.

Bokuto stares, mouth agape, before scoffing. “_Seriously_?”

“You need to calm down, man. _Seriously_. I could hear you from all the way out there. Let’s go.” The last words are directed towards Akaashi, who follows without another word of his own.

They decide to take their food to go. Kuroo waits to pick it up, sending Akaashi back to his dorm to wait for him.

***

“So, when are you going to spill the beans on what happened between you two?”

His response is a diffident nose scrunch. A plastic fork idly prods at the pile of food in the styrofoam container. 

“Must have been bad. The yelling was a bad OST match up to the couples trying to eat dinner in peace.”

This time he gets an unpleasant glare.

“Should I worry about him trying to hurt you, or something? I mean, I know he has some issues with self-control, everybody on the goddamn planet knows, but he doesn’t usually explode like that.”

Akaashi is silent for a while. Kuroo doesn’t try to pry any further.

“Nothing specific happened,” he finally says after a drawn-out break. “Things were good, until they weren’t. We fought more. We got angry and said things. The whole thing was a mistake.”

It was vague, but the truth. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things started going downhill. But they did. Things got bad very quickly. Eventually, it hurt trying to hold onto a semblance of the good that still remained between them. He didn’t want to be in pain anymore. So, exactly nine months, three days and twenty-two hours ago, he gave up. He didn’t cry. He didn’t argue. Akaashi had done enough of that to last him several more lifetimes. He ignored pleads and cries to stay. Within an hour he had packed up all of his belongings.

He had given up.

“Are you over him?” The question is so simple, not fueled by ulterior motives or hidden resentment, but rather genuine concern.

“No.”


	3. you aren't mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which akaashi is confused, bokuto is angry, kuroo got hit. all i can say is, poor kageyama being dragged into this mess LOL

A few nights later, Akaashi made two mistakes. Two bad mistakes. Hindsight is always 20/20, and in retrospect, he _really_ wishes he wouldn’t have done either of the two. It would have saved him a lot of unnecessary pain and confusion.

Mistake number one happened one night after a practically gruelling day of back-to-back classes. Relying on a freshman for notes was pathetic, especially by his standards. If nothing else, Akaashi at least had to make sure his grades didn’t suffer because of something so mediocre. His arms ached because of how many books he was carrying, having to lug five classes worth of notes and textbooks back to his dorm. He was just looking forward to some peace and quiet and _alone time_.

Things never worked out they way he wanted to.

As soon as he turned the corner, his dorm the third on the right, he sees Bokuto standing by the door. He has a face that Akaashi can recognize easily—it’s the one he uses to apologize for getting out of hand, usually followed by “just give me another chance.” This was a pattern he knew all too well. Bokuto had a habit of losing control, and although it was short-lived and he always apologized afterwards, he just couldn’t prevent it. No doubt he wanted to apologize for losing his cool at the restaurant the other night.

But it’s no use. Akaashi knows the whole thing is no use.

He’s tired.

He’s tired of remembering.

He’s tired of caring.

Bokuto calls out for him. Akaashi doesn’t respond. The apologies are met with a door being slammed in his face. He can hear Bokuto rapping against the door, saying _something_ but he’s so focused on not paying attention that he completely tunes it out. Earbuds forcefully pressed into his ears, he blasts the first thing that comes on. The apologies, drowned out by the door and the music, continue for some time. Then they stop. Akaashi doesn’t notice.

***

Mistake number two happens once he deems it safe to pull a single earbud out. Silence. A sigh of relief breaks the silence, the other earbud pulled out. A sweater is tugged over his t-shirt, and he ganders cautiously opening his front door.

Bokuto is gone.

Finally, some quiet.

Before his mind can register that he’s moving, his feet have already begun leading him to a familiar path. In moments like these, in moments where Akaashi is tired of thinking and stewing, there’s just one place he goes. It’s his haven. It’s something he desperately needs. Without it, he would have fallen apart long ago.

Bunched knuckles knock thrice on the door before him. His hair is curly, a little messy, and the sweats that form his ensemble are ones he sleeps in, but he knows Kuroo won’t mind.

When the door opens, it isn’t Kuroo who answers it.

“Eh? Akaashi-san?”

Usually lidded eyes open wide.

This wasn’t what he was expecting.

“K-Kageyama-kun? Wh—”

Kageyama opens the door more fully, apparently at ease knowing that it’s someone he recognizes. Akaashi doesn’t try to come inside. Kuroo is currently perched atop the bed, shirtless, looking to Akaashi with some mixture of surprise and confusion.

If he had stayed there for a few more seconds, Kageyama or Kuroo could have told him what they have been up to. Kageyama, although excelling in some classes, was falling behind in others. He sought Kuroo out, a senior he knew from his high school volleyball days whom he knew was a good student, to help him out a little. Falling behind in class meant that his spot as a volleyball regular would be jeopardized, and he couldn’t risk that. Not when Bokuto was such a ticking time-bomb. This was just one of several sessions in which Kuroo bemused how thick-headed Kageyama was, and Kageyama insisting (clutching an essay that had a nasty, red-marked 23% on it) that he wasn’t.

Akaashi doesn’t stay, however.

Kuroo calls for him. Akaashi doesn’t respond.

But Kuroo knows better than to try to grasp onto him. Akaashi, perhaps more than anyone else he knew, needed time to cool off after an altercation.

In a daze, Akaashi returns to his dorm. To be safe, he locks it shut. He stands there by the front door, heart beating.

He’s confused.

They don’t talk about that incident again. Kageyama’s name is never brought up. They return to normal, avoiding what happened, and acting as if nothing had happened to begin with.

***

A few days later, Kuroo bursts into Akaashi’s dorm, hand covering jaw, grimacing.

“What’s going on?” Akaashi takes a look at him, finishes up the sentence he was writing, and puts his pencil down.

Kuroo pulls his hand down, revealing a gnarly bruise situated on the right side of his jaw. An eyebrow is quirked, body instinctively leaning forward a little in his chair to take a better look. “Who did you piss off to get that?”

“Who do you think? That insane bastard Bokuto.”

It had happened that afternoon. Kuroo was just getting out of class, in the parking lot. Bokuto, being chased by a flustered Kageyama, came charging at him.

“_You_.”

Kuroo merely blinked, turning around only to be met with one of the most venomous glares ever directed his way. “What? What are you doing?”

In the distance he could hear Kageyama’s voice yelling “Bokuto-san! Stop!”. Bokuto showed no intention of stopping, though, as to be expected.

“Did you fuck him?”

Bokuto doesn’t need to say a name. Kuroo already knew. With an exasperated sigh, a nimble hand waved off the accusation. “Did you forget that you two are broken up? He isn’t yours. Don’t worry, he’s not mine either.”

That didn’t do much to ease Bokuto off of the cliff he was currently sliding down. Hands grasp at Kuroo’s collar, slamming him into the side door of his car. “What the fuck man, get off of me—”

“He was mine _first_!”

“Are you insane?! What he does is none of your damn business! He doesn’t need your permission, your blessing, or you to give a single fuck about him! Instead of being so _bent out of shape_ because of me, why don’t you stop trying to butt into a life where you’re not fucking wanted?!”

That was it. The final blow.

Kageyama was right about caught up then, and Bokuto, knowing that if Kageyama reaches him he’ll probably be able to drag him off, gave Kuroo a nice taste of his left hook before practically throwing him out of his hands. “I’m sorry! He’s—he’s just been on edge because of a game we have coming up. Sorry!” is what Kageyama yelled, dragging a heaving Bokuto off the premise.

Akaashi’s fingers reach out to brush against the growing splotch of red. “Sit down.”

He has to go all the way to the shared kitchen to get some ice, but he returns shortly after with several pieces in a ziploc bag for Kuroo to place over it. “I’m sorry.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow in response. “For what?”

“He hit you because of me.”

“He hit me because he’s a fucking _psycho_.”

Could Akaashi even say anything in response? Bokuto wasn’t exactly the calmest of people, nor the most level-headed. To say it in a positive way, Bokuto was just passionate. To say it in a negative way, Bokuto had issues with self-control.

Ever since the incident with Kuroo and Kageyama that night Bokuto came to apologize, Akaashi had been preoccupied with thoughts. More specifically, he came to the stark realization that he was indecently straddling a very thin line between the past and present.

As much as he pretended that Bokuto was a thing of the past, he couldn’t deny the fact that it still affected him. That experience, both negatively and positively, affected him. It was affecting him still. He wasn’t over it. He wasn’t over _him_. But he tried, at least sometimes, to take the first step forward in leaving that behind.

Things were never that easy though. One step forward, one step back. One step forward, another step back. It was a bad pattern that he couldn’t seem to break.

What even was Kuroo to him, anyway?

He had been an invaluable friend and source of comfort, especially the past few months when things really started getting bad. Kuroo never pushed him. He seemed to realize that Akaashi was having difficulty navigating out of his past, and not once did he try to force him out of it himself. Kuroo was also a lot more in control than Bokuto was. He was more stable. More reliable.

Seeing Kageyama in Kuroo’s room had brought an uncomfortable slew of emotions with it. He and Kuroo weren’t by any means exclusive. Their connection, although both physical and emotional, wasn’t really mature. Yet. After all, they had only started getting acquainted after the whole ordeal with Bokuto.

But that night, he was reminded of that fact.

Kuroo wasn’t his.

Kageyama had every right to be there.

Anyone had every right to be there.

Then came the other uncomfortable realization: Akaashi didn’t know if he liked that.

It was unsettling, seeing Kageyama there. It was unsettling thinking of Kageyama with Kuroo. He wasn’t exactly sure why that was.

In that moment, though, with Kuroo complaining about his jaw and Bokuto and everything else, Akaashi thinks _screw it_. Why did he have to be the one that carefully thought everything through and never acted before thinking? Why did he have to be the one that had to be careful? Why couldn’t he act out of emotion more often?

Kuroo is talking about the way in which he’s going to murder Bokuto later (a problem for another time), but Akaashi truthfully isn’t even listening. He just wants to kiss him. In that moment, he just wants to kiss him. So, he does. It’s a kiss that doesn’t have any underlying request behind it, nor is it one with a purpose to instigate anything more.

It surprises them both.

While they were having sex more often than not, they weren’t particularly affectionate with each other outside of that. They were still getting to know each other, the sex was just a bonus. This was the first time anything remotely intimate had been done. If that day was like any other day, they would have had sex. But they fell asleep talking, limbs tangled, and the third movie auto-playing on the Netflix app open on Akaashi’s laptop.


	4. if you aren't over him ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which akaashi finally makes a choice.

Akaashi is woken up by an incessant buzzing shaking the nightstand. Just barely, though. An elbow nudges Kuroo’s chest, a sleepy and incoherent mumble asking him to _please_ make it stop. He’s always telling Kuroo not to put his phone there for precisely this reason. An arm reaches over Akaashi’s barely conscious frame, patting around the nightstand for his phone.

“Kuroo-san!”

Akaashi suddenly finds himself wide-eyed. It’s a voice he can recognize well. It’s the voice that offered to let him copy notes, the voice that asked for help with Bokuto, the voice that greeted him when he was at Kuroo’s door—

“What are you doing calling me at this ungodly hour? Do you know how dangerous that is? I can think of twenty ways to kill you off the top of my head right now.”

“It’s ten in the morning, it’s not even that early. Anyway, I got fifty-eight on my modern literature essay! Fifty-eight!”

“Good job, kiddo. See? That twenty-three is far behind you.”

“I can’t believe this, honestly! And dumbass Hinata got forty-two. Hah.”

“… Not to put a damper on this train, but fifty-eight is barely enough for you to get all smug with Hinata over.”

“Eh?! Fine, then. All I have to do is score a higher overall grade than you did when you took the class. Then you’ll _have_ to acknowledge my superiority over dumbass Hinata. What was your grade?”

“Ninety-eight.”

“….”

“….”

“… Sorry I woke you up, Kuroo-san.”

The conversation continued for a while, long enough for Akaashi to gather his bearings and prepare to vacate to his own dorm. It was strange. The whole thing was strange. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous (?) or if he was uncomfortable. He didn’t know if both of those were interchangeable and implied the same thing. Regardless, it was somewhat awkward and he didn’t really feel like staying much after that.

He and Kuroo avoided talking about Kageyama. Akaashi wasn’t sure how that even started, or why it was mutually implied that Kageyama was no longer considered a safe topic, but he wasn’t.

Whenever they were together, it was if they were the only two people in the world that existed.

Sometimes it was nice.

Sometimes it was suffocating.

***

“Why am I here—”

Akaashi, still in the clothes he slept in, was being half-dragged by a smug Kuroo into the Nekoma High School gymnasium.

“Because you look like shit that’s been laying out in the sun, and I know what’ll make you feel better.”

A crinkle of his nose displays how displeased he is at the analogy, but he follows him nonetheless. To a gym. With a whole bunch of high school volleyball players.

“Hey, good-for-nothing rascals.”

Akaashi sends Kuroo a look. _That _was how he greeted the volleyball players of his alma mater?

Clad in their red-and-black uniforms, a group of what was easily fifteen students forms a semi-circle around Kuroo, and now Akaashi. They bow, greet him, and look to be awaiting some kind of instruction.

Akaashi wouldn’t mind some kind of instruction, either. Or explanation.

“This is Akaashi Keji. He’s a few years older than you guys, used to play with Fukurodani.”

“Eh?! Can’t he be our associate coach?”

“You. Number 14. You and I will be practicing together extra today. I’ll make you wish you didn’t sign up for this damn club—” Kuroo barks, but then turns his attention to Akaashi. “These guys need practice, and who better than two former powerhouse volleyball stars to help them? We’ll pick our starting team, and the losing captain buys everyone dinner.”

Akaashi scoffs, but a smile is playing at his lips. “You think you being their associate coach means you can pick a better starting team than I can? You don’t even know their names.”

The last time Akaashi played volleyball was in high school, with Bokuto. Since then, he hasn’t so much as touched volleyball, and Bokuto went on to become a regular on the varsity team. It wasn’t for lack of passion that Akaashi decided not to continue on playing—it came down to the fact that Bokuto needed volleyball more than he did, and after their tumultuous break, it wouldn’t have been prudent for neither them nor the team to have both of them playing. Without volleyball, Bokuto wouldn’t have an outlet. Bokuto without an outlet was bad news.

So, Akaashi gave it up. 

Honestly, he was kind of touched that Kuroo brought him here. Kuroo knew that Akaashi was no longer playing volleyball, and while the exact parameters of the “why” had never been revealed to him explicitly, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

“You have an hour. Here are some recordings of their games, the list of players, and their stats. Read up.”

Exactly an hour on the dot, Akaashi was ready. He had his list. He had his backup list. There was no way he was losing to Kuroo Tetsurou when it came to volleyball. It had been so long since he felt excited about volleyball, so long since he was genuinely excited about _anything_, and his aura reflected it. Kuroo would steal occasional glances at the ultra-focused Akaashi staring into the soul of the computer screen as several games played by, analyzing players and re-winding and re-watching plays, and smiled a little.

***

“Make sure all of you order seconds. And third. And fourths.”

Rowdy cheers erupted and echoed throughout the nearly-empty restaurant, accompanied by a smug-looking Akaashi seated next to a completely dejected looking Kuroo.

“You—you didn’t even know them! You watched an _hour_ of footage, how—”

“Let’s call it a star player’s intuition.”

“You were a _setter_.”

“Weren’t you a captain? What a disgrace.”

“You know what, I let you win. This was me trying to make you feel better. Everything was intentional.”

“But Kuroo-san, why were you so fired up when we lost?”

“Number 14! Choke on a meatball!”

***

“I had fun today.”

They’re walking back to campus, a trek that wasn’t too far but far enough for the both of them to have some quiet time. Akaashi genuinely had fun. He felt free. He had almost forgotten what that had felt like.

“I knew you’d like it. You were actually smiling a little there.”

“I wish I wasn’t as rusty. Those kids deserved a better setter.”

“Those kids were lucky to have you. Their official setter still needs a lot of work.”

The mood seemed okay. Comfortable. Akaashi figured that now was a good time as any to bring up—

“Akaashi-san! Kuroo-san!”

The both of them are startled by the voice that breaks the comfortable silence, simultaneously turning to the left. Kageyama, wearing his grey jersey with a blue ‘9’ imprinted onto it, came jogging towards them.

Akaashi hadn’t realized it, but they had been passing the university gym. The university gym in which volleyball practice took place every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evening. And, as luck would have it, it was the perfect Thursday evening to have volleyball practice.

“We’re short of players right now, and we need practice before Monday’s game. Please practice with us!”

Kuroo and Akaashi turn to look at each other. Kuroo, Akaashi notes, doesn’t seem too fazed. Akaashi, on the other hand, is trying to the upmost of his ability not to reject the offer in his next breath. Playing a practice game with Kageyama, Kuroo _and_ Bokuto? There were about a thousand ways in which that could go wrong.

“Why not?” Kuroo is nonchalant, as if a perfect stranger had asked him to play on a team of other perfect strangers.

“… Kageyama-kun, can you just give us a minute?”

“H-huh? Oh, sure.”

Akaashi is pulling Kuroo aside. “Are you actually insane?”

“Listen. If the reason why you gave up volleyball was so psycho Bokuto could have his emotional safe place, you really fucked yourself over. I saw how happy it made you to play today. I saw how much fun you had. What better way to let go of everything holding you back than to prove to him and yourself that you don’t need to be walking on eggshells for him still?”

Akaashi begins to say something, but it gets lost midway.

“If you aren’t over him, and want to be, then play. If you aren’t over him, and don’t want to be, I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Over him. Was that even possible? Akaashi definitely did **want** to be over the Bokuto he knew. It had consumed him, ruined him, and ultimately set his entire life aflame. He had given up volleyball so Bokuto could have it to himself. He had forgiven countless outburst, anger spurts and emotional eruptions. He had let Bokuto run his life, and hell, even after breaking up everything was always on Bokuto’s timeline.

Just once, he wanted to do something for himself.

“Let’s fucking play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew !! things are about to go down, folks. next chapter will be insight into what bokuto has been doing since the unfortunate incident at the restaurant up until now, and let's just say it will be painful x 1000. hold onto your seats.


	5. don't give up on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, long time no see :] rest assured i have not forgotten about this story! enjoy this very late update with the promise that i will attempt to update far more frequently~

“Bokuto, let’s go out tonight.”

An apologetic grin follows a loud rejection, Bokuto saying that he had other plans. In truth, his other plans consisted of something he was genuinely ashamed of. It was something that he should have done earlier, way earlier, but hadn’t because he had too much pride.

It was raining that day. Umbrella in hand, he had commuted over an hour after class. In front of him, a wet plaque read: EMOTIONALLY FOCUSED THERAPY.

Several sessions in, and he still hadn’t told anybody. It was embarrassing. The fact that he needed someone else’s help controlling himself—the whole thing was embarrassing. His past self never would have considered it, either. But his emotions were seeping into aspects of his life that were getting harder to control. Volleyball was everything to him, and it was beginning to affect the way he played. The coach was starting to get impatient with him. His teammates had to face the brunt of the work, because when he self-destructed it was _them_ having to keep things together and moving. For the first time, several games ago, Bokuto was benched early on for the entirety of the game. Without their usual wing spiker, especially considering that the team was built in a way that would pull him, the hole left behind by him was hard to fill.

Then came the even harder hit. Seeing Akaashi with Kuroo. Knowing Akaashi had been with Kuroo. Knowing that the person who had smashed his heart into a million pieces and left was moving on with someone new, while he was still having trouble accepting the reality of the situation. Their situation.

He had lost his temper again that night. Bokuto couldn’t even count the amount of times he had lost his temper with Akaashi. But Akaashi had always forgiven him. Akaashi had never turned him away. So, the shock that followed when Bokuto had shown up to apologize and Akaashi completely blew him off was new to him, too.

For the first time in a long time he could see it. He was poison. Everywhere he went, it seeped in.

It was him.

He was the problem.

***

It wasn’t long afterwards that Bokuto had to face his first big obstacle. Therapy was still new for him, he wasn’t sure that he liked it, but he was persistent in trying it. It may have been his imagination, or wishful thinking, but sometimes he thought that maybe it was working. He felt as if he was starting to get the hang of controlling outbursts, killing it before they erupted, keeping collected and in control.

That must have been why God decided to really test his patience that day.

With a big match coming up, the coach had divided the team into sections for more individualized practice. Pinch servers were a huge part of the team that needed to solidify their skills, and so, six members were taken out and were practicing in another gymnasium. Of the six, two were regular starting members. The coach was talking about maybe playing smaller three-on-three or four-on-four games to make up for the loss when Kageyama ran out of the gym, saying that he had an idea.

Five minutes later, Kuroo and Akaashi walked in. That did nothing to help the fact that the mere _image_ of them had made him want to set something on fire. Seeing the real thing, seeing Akaashi with _him_, was a million times worse than he could have imagined.

He couldn’t lose it. Bokuto couldn’t lose it, not now.

He took a deep breath. Counted to five. Cleared his head.

_They are two strangers._

They might as well have been.

Kuroo and Akaashi greeted the other team members, Akaashi a little more awkwardly than Kuroo, whose boisterous personality let him fit in just about anywhere. Kageyama, Bokuto, and four others made one team. Akaashi, Kuroo and four others made another.

It was strange. He had never played _against_ Akaashi. He never had to see Akaashi set to anyone else, nor did he want to, especially not Kuroo—but, as misfortune would have it, their team was lacking a left-wing spiker. And who else would fill in that spot, of course, if not Kuroo. Never mind the fact that he knew Kuroo played middle blocker in high school. Never mind the fact that Akaashi would be setting to him. Never mind the fact that Kuroo and Akaashi would be playing together, against him. Never mind the fact that, as soon as he thought perhaps the therapy was starting to work, _this _was thrown at him.

“Bokuto-san, it’s your serve.”

A ball is bounced over to him. Bokuto needed to focus. The upcoming game was important, and any practice was useful and much needed. He couldn’t get caught up in petty drama.

But, as he was quickly figuring out, trying not to think about something was the same thing as thinking about it. And, in his case, the thing he was thinking about was right on the front line.

***

Apparently, Kageyama had forgotten that Kuroo had quite literally been socked in the face by an angry Bokuto only days ago. Akaashi didn’t want to think that he had set this up on purpose. Nonetheless, regardless of his retrospective regrets, this was happening.

The first play shed an unwanted light on what this game would be.

It was Bokuto’s serve. He, Kuroo, and another middle blocker were on the front line. Kuroo and the other middle blocker were having light conversation, so as to keep from being distracted, about some of the things to watch out for. After all, they were bound to stumble a little as Kuroo and Akaashi got accustomed to new players and a new team which they knew absolutely nothing about.

During said conversation, Bokuto had served the ball cleanly in the trajectory which would guarantee its collision with Kuroo. It was sharper than usual, Akaashi could tell by the height and spin, and most definitely intentional. Without thinking much about it (truth be told, Kuroo may have been able to get it; he had quicker reflexes than Akaashi did), Akaashi’s hand shot out. The ball ricocheted off of his fingers and slammed down onto the ground on the other side of the net.

Their first point.

The players were stunned. Akaashi didn’t even bother looking in Bokuto’s direction. He knew this would happen. He knew Bokuto would use this as an outlet. He knew that punishing Kuroo would be the first item on his to-do list. This wasn’t anything new.

“Whoa. Good job there, Fukurodani-san!” Someone from the back gave his back a pat, and Akaashi let out a weak form of agreement in response.

“Hey. Is your hand okay?” From beside him Kuroo abruptly took the hand that had received the serve and held it up inspect it at eye level. His fingers ached a little, but that was to be expected. “Yeah, I’m okay. Pay attention, okay? That probably won’t be the first time he’ll try something.”

Kuroo hummed in agreement and returned the hand. A beat later, he followed up. “Akaashi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” A boyishly endearing grin, sheepish but also grateful, beaming at him. The beacon of light in a sea of darkness.

***

_Fuck_.

He hadn’t meant to do that.

He was serving without thinking, and his thoughts had admittedly been a little preoccupied, but he didn’t want the ball to fly in a curve like that—

_Fuck_.

In a single second he faces momentary panic. Akaashi would think he did that on purpose. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but it would be so fucking easy to think that he was lashing out and expressing contempt. To be frank, he _did_ want to lash out and he _did_ have contempt for Kuroo. He also didn’t try to hide it.

But he didn’t want to do it like this.

_Fuck_.

The rest of the game was overwhelming. He often caught himself panicking about what Akaashi must think of him. Bokuto was trying, he had thrown all pride to the wind and gone to _therapy_, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t want to do things to hurt him anymore. But he couldn’t even manage not to with the best intentions.

When he wasn’t worrying about Akaashi, he was distracted by Akaashi and Kuroo’s obnoxiously boisterous teamwork. Kuroo would hold onto Akaashi’s hand after a high five for _ten_ seconds too long. Akaashi would congratulate Akaashi for a scored point the same way he used to congratulate _him_ when they played together—with a gentle smile, a hand on the shoulder, and a soft-spoken “nice” that could lighten up even the darkest corners of a person’s heart with a warmth that they would find hard-pressed to find anywhere else.

He became more self-conscious as the game went on, fearing that something like that first spike would happen again, and he would fall even lower in Akaashi’s book. If that was even possible.

Akaashi and Kuroo’s team ended up winning.

During clean up, when Akaashi was free from Kuroo’s grasp, Bokuto approached him. They were alone in the equipment room, but peace and quiet couldn’t be guaranteed for long. “Akaashi.”

He could physically see Akaashi’s discomfort. That broke him. “I’m just putting these away, and then I have to go.”

“Wait. Please.” He half expects to be blown off like the last time. But Akaashi pauses, turns, and then faces him with a completely foreign expression. “What is it, Bokuto-san?”

“I didn’t mean to serve like that. To him. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Save it. I expected it.”

“Don’t do that.” His voice should be firm, tense, demanding, as it always was in moments like these—instead it came out strangled and frail. Something in Akaashi’s expression changes too, if only for a moment. Bokuto thinks that, in that moment, he could recognize a flash of the person who used to look at him with a little less spite and disappointment. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

“… I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that you don’t have to forgive me, like me, or even want us to be like we used to be. I just don’t want you to move on from me yet. I’m **trying**. It’s—I mean, it’s still a work in progress and I don’t think I can turn into someone you won't hate overnight, but I _want_ to.” That was what he was constantly being told in sessions, and what he was told by coaches and peers alike: he couldn’t channel all of his emotions into frustration or anger. Sometimes he had to deal with emotions with some tact. But Bokuto never needed to do so before. His teammates, Akaashi, they would all understand him. They would deal with it so he wouldn’t have to.

For the first time ever, he was trying to do it on his own.


End file.
